wolves

There are many, many websites, books and other resources that contain just about everything that anyone would ever want to know about wolves. So, this webpage will not duplicate information that is readily available. What I want to spend some time writing about is what it’s like to actually live with wolf hybrids. However, if you feel so-inclined and would like to help one of the groups working to save these incredible animals, go to http://www.defendersofwildlife.org or http://www.nrdc.org. Both of these organizations work tirelessly to protect the world’s species—and the earth—from man’s destructiveness.

As a historical aside, I’ve had a dog (or more than one) as a part of my life since I was three years old and my parents thought that an only child should have a pet for comfort and companionship. Over the years I’ve had a diverse mix of canine company from schnauzers to German Shepherds, with a Golden Lab and a Doberman thrown into the mix. I also spent a few years doing Schutzhund training with German Shepherds.

Wolves came into our lives in an interesting—and rather sad—way. It was one December when the snow was late to come to the Eastern Sierra. Bob and I were not as yet actually living in Mammoth Lakes, but we traveled there as often as possible to escape the city. On our way through Truckee, I picked up a local paper and was scanning the ads. Well, there was an ad for arctic wolf puppies. I talked with Bob about that ad. It really called out to me, but at the time we had two German Shepherds and I had a hard time visualizing another large dog. Plus, one of my shepherds was fairly aggressive towards other dogs and I didn’t see how she’d allow any strange puppy to survive past puppyhood.

Within twenty-four hours, our female shepherd was dead. We’d stopped for the night just north of Mammoth Lakes and had pulled about half a mile up the Scenic Loops Road. As we’d done perhaps a hundred times before, we let the two shepherds out to run a bit while we got the back of the 4Runner ready to sleep in and poured the dogs’ kibbles into dishes for them. It was around ten P.M. Our male shepherd came back; our female never did. We looked and looked for her until past midnight, decided we couldn’t do much more in the dark and retired to our impromptu bed in the 4Runner where we spent a restless night. Denali (the female shepherd) came to me in a dream and I knew that she was dead. We found her the next morning and picked a lovely spot under a large rock cairn for her gravesite. While I was sitting near the grave, McKinley (the male shepherd) came to sit next to me. I told him that when he died, we’d bury him next to Denali. You should have seen the look he gave me. Anyway, he got up and stalked away—apparently preferring to lie next to the car. My husband and I didn’t realize how much McKinley disliked Denali until after she’d died. He was like a puppy in his enthusiasm at, once again, being the “only” dog.

I’m sure you’ve guessed the next part. On our way back through Truckee a few days later, I called the number where the puppies were, found out that they’d not yet been born and had the owner put our name on her list. The birth was on January 10th and we started visiting the litter on a regular basis when the puppies were only three weeks old. Three weeks after that, we brought little Kaniq home with us—a six week old ball of fluff. Even the local vet was so taken with him that she announced to a room full of waiting customers that she just had to take a quick look at the “arctic” puppy.

Unlike his experience with Denali, McKinley fell in love with Kaniq, too. The two of them were inseparable until McKinley died in the middle of 2004. McKinley’s impending death led to a search for a mate for Kaniq. Again, fortuitously, I found an ad—this time in the Reno paper. And, shortly, six week old Kania entered our lives. She was half husky—her father was a champion sled dog—and half arctic wolf. McKinley actually got to spend about a month with puppy Kania before his death at age eleven from osteosarcoma.

After some initial trepidation about the newcomer, Kaniq eventually welcomed her into our pack. He was mourning the loss of McKinley, his erstwhile father-figure and mentor, so the process probably took longer than it might have otherwise.

And, when Kaniq was four and Kania two, we let them breed. They produced eight wonderful puppies—four boys and four girls. We kept one and found good homes for the other seven. Some are still in town, so we get to see the “kids” on occasion.

So, what is it like, sharing your life with wolves? For one thing, they’re much more independent than any dog that I’ve ever lived with. They also have firmly held rules about how the world should operate. For example, when Kaniq first came home, he knew that puppies slept with the pack. Our idea—which was to put him in a kennel box in the kitchen like we’d done with every other puppy we’d ever raised—was completely unacceptable to him. He cried the entire first night. So, the second night we assumed that it was the kennel box that he didn’t like, and we tried to barricade him into the kitchen. Kaniq somehow crawled over the barricade—we never could figure out how an eight pound puppy managed to do that—and curled up outside our closed bedroom door. We found him there in the morning, looking very pleased with himself. The third night was a repeat of the second.

Finally, Bob and I “got it” and moved Kaniq and his little green kennel box into our bedroom, placing it right next to the bed. You could just see from his body language that Kaniq was relieved that he had finally gotten through to us. There wasn’t a peep out of him that night, nor for many nights to come—unless he had to go out. Another puppy Kaniq story is that he used to love to hunt for arctic mice under the covers—just like a cat. If you’d put one of your hands under the covers and move it around, Kaniq would watch intently and then he’d pounce on your hand. We played that game for a year or more, and then he outgrew it. I think when he figured out that it was us; and not a real mouse under the covers, he lost interest.

My wolves are accomplished hunters. I’m sure this will bother some of you, but they’re really very good at killing things. Mostly, they go after rodents, but they’ve worked as a team to bring down larger things as well. When we travel in the back country, Bob and I bring along a length of rope and their leashes and we keep our crew tied up at night next to our camp. That pretty much solves that little problem.

My wolves are noble and principled. They love one another and there are many parallels between Nikki, Naia and Kua in my novels and their “real” counterparts. They are fiercely loyal and intensely protective of their pack—human and lupine. But, whereas I never had a German Shepherd who either didn’t like other people, or didn’t like other dogs, these hybrids are gentle and good natured—even somewhat shy. On the trail, I don’t have to worry that they’ll take it upon themselves to bite someone; nor do I have to make sure I’m right next to them chanting “Don’t pet the dog. Yes, he’s beautiful, but he doesn’t like it when strangers pet him.” Nor do I have to worry about being the one with the moral high ground if my leashed shepherd bit a wandering dog that happened to be passing by off leash. (“Well, there is a leash law. Why was your dog loose?”) To be perfectly honest, my female hybrid is a bit more high maintenance than the boys, but even she is far more manageable than any of my shepherds on their best days—even with hundreds of hours of training.

I will add to this section from time to time. The first addition will be pictures of my little wolf family. Interestingly, people I meet on the trails frequently recognize my group for what they are—wolves. Europeans seem particularly sharp in this regard. As a rule I simply tell those who ask that I have “mixed northern breed” dogs and leave it at that.

Again, thanks for visiting my website. Be sure to check back.